Point of no return
by Potix
Summary: Prompt from Phantom white lady of 221b : Sherlock undercover as a musical performer at some point during his hiatus, as Eric in The Phantom of the Opera . T to be safe,for now.
1. Chapter 1

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux , Andrew Loyd Webber ,Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe own The phantom of the opera 's story and musical . I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language and I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

**Phantom white lady of 221b gave me this prompt : Sherlock undercover as a musical performer at some point during his hiatus, as Eric in Phantom of the Opera. Hope you like how I imagined this story !**

Gone. He was gone. He had allowed himself a week to repair his broken ribs, to let his skin and muscles recover from the bruises. A week hidden in Molly Hooper's flat, with only a brief escape outside to watch his friends mourn his death at his funeral. During that week, Sherlock has spoken only a few words to her, and not even said a simple "goodbye" before taking advantage of Molly taking a shower, to pass the threshold and disappear, God knows where . When she left the bathroom, she found a simple post-it on the table. " Thanks", it said . Molly removed it from the table, and caressed the word, before reaching her writing desk in the bedroom and closing the yellow piece of paper between the pages of an old book.

* * *

_Think of me, think of me waking,_  
_silent and resigned._  
_Imagine me, trying too hard_  
_to put you from my mind._  
_Recall those days_  
_look back on all those times,_  
_think of the things we'll never do -_  
_there will never be a day,_  
_when I won't think of you . . .*_

Molly didn't usually sing in the shower, but not because she didn't have a good voice. _Au contraire,_ she had a beautiful soprano voice, and she had taken singing lessons for a long time, before stopping altogether when her father died and she started University,a few months later . Her father had always encouraged her into nurturing her interests in bel canto, but when he died, every aria, every exercise, every scale reminded her of him, and made her heart bleed a little more. But now, with Sherlock gone, and with no possibility to pour out her emotions to her friends, singing was a way to express what she was feeling. For Sherlock, alone against a web of criminals and assassins; for John, Lestrade and Martha Hudson, who were thankfully oblivious of the sacrifice the man they were still mourning had made; for herself, torn between the loyalty to the man she loved, and the need to soothe the pain the others were feeling, revealing them the truth. So, she sang in the shower, because it was like singing in the rain: none could see her crying there.

* * *

At last, after three months of singing and crying in the shower, of checking for John and Mrs Hudson at Baker Street (how dreadful it was, seeing a part of Sherlock's life crystallized in the flat, his microscope still on the table, one of his scarves hanging on the rack, the skull without a particle of dust because his landlady wiped it every single day...), of Greg Lestrade entering the morgue with a perpetual look of guilt and remorse, Molly had enough. She couldn't continue to lie to all of them, without persuade even herself that Sherlock Holmes was dead, only a ghost in her memories and dreams. She told Mike that after 5 years, she had the intention to take a time off - three weeks to visit one of her childhood friend, Jez, who had moved to Wales when they were in secondary school. She entrusted Toby to Mrs Hudson, kissed goodbye to John, and left London, hoping to find a little peace in Cardiff.

The first thing Jez did, when Molly arrived at Cardiff central, was to hug her so tightly, that the pathologist feared she had dislocated at least two ribs. Jez - short for Jezebel- was a force of nature. She worked as an accountant, and in her free time she taught music to a group of problematic teenagers . She was always well-informed about the local music life, knew a lot of performers and attended every concert she could . It was only natural that the second evening of her holiday, Jez dragged Molly to the Wales Millennium Centre, to watch "Hairspray"; then, a week later, she insisted that her friend went with her to a practise of " The phantom of the Opera".

" Please, Molly ! You used to love it when we were at school - your Christine was amazing...plus, there's this guy,Marc...he's spanish, and absolutely gorgeous - he plays Raoul, and-"

" And you're obviously smitten over him...I don't know, Jez, I just want a quiet night at home..."

" Molly, I'm begging you...I think he's nearly ready to ask me out on a date,please..."

Molly capitulated. "Ok, ok, I'm coming...but only because of you !"

"I love you, Molls ! And now, we need to prepare ourselves...quickly, to the Bat-Cavern !"

* * *

They arrived to the little theater an hour later, because Jez had insisted to put a little make-up on her and convinced her to wear a nice dress, instead of her usual t-shirt and jeans (" If Marc saw that I'm the only one all dressed-up, he will suspect that I'm interested..."), and the company was already performing . Molly heard the music, and she immediately recognised the song . The man who was playing Eric ( a tall, lanky ginger guy, who was strangely already wearing the famous white mask - it was only a practise, after all ) was finishing his performance .

_She saw my loneliness_  
_Shared in my emptiness_  
_No one would listen_  
_No one but her_  
_Heard as the outcast hears_

_No one would listen_  
_No one but her_  
_Heard as the outcast hears...**_

Her hearth skipped a beat . She could recognise that voice everywhere; a voice that had made her shiver, and hurt her so many times. The man removed his mask, and she felt his eyes on her . He was wearing grey contact lenses, but the intensity of his gaze was still there. Trying to escape the memories of the consulting detective, Molly Hooper had stumbled into Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Songs (both from The Phantom of the Opera, of course !)

* Think of me

** No one would listen

********** Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading !**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux , Andrew Loyd Webber ,Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe own The phantom of the opera 's story and musical . I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language and I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

**Without further ado...the second chapter ! Enjoy !**

Molly sat alone in the little parterre, while Jez approached her "prey" during a pause of the practise . She didn't dare to sneak a peak at the tall man on the stage, so she missed his furtive glances towards her. She was restless in the uncomfortable theater chair, and her fidgeting stopped only when she heard the director's voice booming angrily. " Shit ! This production has the same possibilities to be successful as the Titanic's trip...our Christine ran away with her sugar daddy,and with only a week before the opening night, it's impossible to find a substitute...God, why did I offer her the part ? I knew she was trouble, and her voice was not that good...Ah !". The director threw some papers in the air."I'm sorry guys, but we can't go on...I'm sorry, but that's the end of it"

Molly had only a second to see the smirk on Jez's face, before hearing her say " Well, Molly knows all the songs, and she has a wonderful voice...she will be an amazing Christine !". _Why are all my friends so eager to interfere with my life ? _Molly groaned, and started to look around, searching for the emergency exit, when she caught Sherlock looking at her. He seemed...curious ? Intrigued ? The director's voice once again interrupted her musings. " Who is Molly ?"

"That girl over there, the one who's trying to sneak off...Molly, come here !" Jez called her, and the pathologist reluctantly complied. Now that she was on the stage, avoiding Sherlock's glances was more difficult. She chose to stay near Jez and her friend/future boyfriend Marc, and ignored him, just to be safe . The director, a short man named Alan, took a look at her, and with a shrug said " Alright, what do you like to sing for us, darling ?"

Molly could feel Sherlock's stare on her, almost challenging her to make a move, and with a boldness that was unusual for her, she placed herself at the center of the stage . " _Think of me_, please ". The music started, and she closed her eyes, concentrating . For a few minutes there was no Sherlock, no Jez, no strangers around her: only the music, and her voice . Molly was so caught in the moment, that when the song finished, she didn't notice until she heard the first clap, followed by another, until everyone on stage were clapping and complimenting her. She still didn't dare to look at Sherlock, afraid that just one glance could be enough to make her lose her sudden confidence .

" Well, it seems you can sing, better than our former Christine, that's for sure...you're not Sarah Brightman, but none here is West End's material...anyway,let's see if you can do a duet !" . Marc approached her, and gave her a charming smile. " Don't worry, it's going to be fine ". Then the first notes of " All I ask of you " started, and once again she lost herself in the music. Marc's voice was...adequate, but he had stage presence, and with his exotic strong features, he was nice to look at . Finally the song ended, and after a few more praises, the moment she dreaded arrived .

"This is our Phantom...Martin Davenport"

Molly whispered a shy "Hello", but Sherlock didn't reply. He seemed more interested in scrutinizing her appearance - she almost felt naked in her light sundress, it was probably the first time Sherlock had seen her dressed like that, and she was missing the lab coat, like an armor that it could protect her from his inquisitive gaze. The fact that he was so ridiculously ginger didn't change the fact that he was still the same man who had left so many scars on her soul, with a casualness so cruel. Thankfully the song started, and Molly focused on the familiar harmony.

**_Phantom_**  
_Sing once again with me,_  
_Our strange duet._  
_My power over you,_  
_Grows stronger yet._  
_And though you turn from me,_  
_To glance behind._  
_The Phantom of the Opera is there,_  
_Inside your mind._

It was almost bizarre, how his deep baritone voice could covey so much intensity . He walked around her, like a predator intimidating his prey. The words depicted perfectly her situation : Sherlock Holmes, even when he was supposedly dead, was always able to overpower her ; even when she had tried to escape from the memories of him, the fate had made her discover him in a theater in the suburb of Cardiff...

**_Christine_**  
_Those who have seen your face,_  
_Draw back in fear._  
_I am the mask you wear._

**_Phantom_**  
_It's me they hear._

**_Both_**  
_My/your spirit and my/your voice,_  
_In one combined._  
_The Phantom of the Opera is there_  
_Inside your/my mind_

Their voices merged, and surprisingly for both of them (Molly could see for a moment a flicker of curiosity in his eyes), it was not unpleasant . On the contrary, they were complementary: it was like their voices were made to sing this song together.

**_Phantom_**  
_In all your fantasies_  
_You always knew_  
_That man and mystery_

**_Christine_**  
_Were both in you_

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was a mystery to her, a puzzle he didn't let anyone try to solve...how many times had she dreamed to finally discover his secrets ? That afternoon, when she told him that she could see him, she had only had a brief preview of the real enigma that the consulting detective was . A man who claimed to not have an heart, and he was ready to make the most generous sacrifice she had ever witnessed, in order to save the lives of the people who loved him.

**_Both_**  
_And in this labyrinth_  
_Where night is blind_  
_The Phantom of the opera is there_  
_Inside your/my mind _*

When the song ended, she was surprised to see that she was not the only one almost breathless: Sherlock's breath was laboured, and they were nearer now, so it was impossible for her not to shiver a little at their proximity. Their gaze locked, like they both tried to send the other a secret message..._if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all—you can have me. _She could hear his words, once again his disbelief so clear in his voice: _What could I need from you? _

The director interrupted their moment. " We should work on your physical interaction, but...you two have chemistry. I can feel what transpires between you... Amazing, amazing...Molly, the practises are every day, at 9 p.m - could you arrive a little earlier, to try on the stage costumes ?" She just nodded, too stunned to say that she couldn't, that she was in Cardiff only for other two weeks, and it was a mistake...and when she turned to search again for Sherlock, he was gone . Typical ._  
_

* * *

When Molly and Jez came back home, the pathologist tried to reprimand her impulsive friend, but in vain . "Don't try to deny that you enjoyed yourself on that stage...plus, the Phantom was leering at you, his eyes didn't leave you all night...maybe you could have a little fun and finally start to forget your Mr. Holmes"

" He was never mine, Jez, you know it...but I'm positive that Martin Davenport is not interested in me, at all..."

" If you say so...but enogh about you, what about Marc ? He's gorgeous, isn't he ?"

After half an hour of gossip, Molly was finally ready to go to bed, when her cell phone beeped.

_Return to London_ - MD

She stared at the unfamiliar number and signature for a few minutes, before she realized. MD, Martin Davenport. Sherlock.

_I'm going to remain here for another two weeks_-MH

_The first train available is tomorrow at 10 a.m_-MD

_Thanks, but no thanks_- MH

She found it strangely liberating, being able to answer back, to assert herself, even if only by text .

_Then leave the musical_ -MD

_Why ? Is there something wrong with my voice ?_-MH

The reply arrived five minutes later - it seemed he was thinking very hard about which words to use.

_I always miss something..._-MD

_Your voice is perfectly adequate, but you need to leave the company anyway_-MD

_No. You have to tell me why, at least_-MH

_It's dangerous_-MD

_Another reason to accept my help, then_-MH

Molly was already on the verge of sleep, when Sherlock answered back. One word, but to her, it was more important, full of significance, than a lengthy speech.

_Ok_-MD

Song (from The Phantom of the Opera)

*The Phantom of the Opera

**********Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading, reviewing, putting this story in your favorites list! And for the ones that understand the reference in this chapter, virtual cookies and cupcakes !**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux , Andrew Loyd Webber ,Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe own The phantom of the opera's story and musical . I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language and I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

The next practise, to use one of Sherlock's favourite words, was simply boring. Molly had to try on every costume made for the previous Christine, who was equipped with larger breast and hips, and remain a little longer to help the costume designer to rearrange the dresses. Not that she was really looking forward to sing again with Sherlock: the hard glares he was launching her were enough to make her dread even sharing the stage with him again. Thank God, the director was adamant that every dress should be perfect on her, so she couldn't perform with the others.

Unfortunately, she was not that lucky during the following practise. "Like I said before, your voices are almost complementary, and I don't think you two need much more practise on that. It's just that you have an undeniable chemistry, but somehow you are both holding back. That's completely wrong: the Phantom and Christine have this raw passion that tie them together, even when they are apart. I want to see the energy of emotions every time you touched, do you understand me ?"

Molly could understand him perfectly, she just...couldn't touch Sherlock. She was so afraid to lose her act every time he was raising a hand, even a finger, to caress her face, or take her elbow, that she backed away, like his touch could scorch her. Worse, she could just shiver, and let a sigh of pleasure at the contact of his skin. No, the less they would touch each other, the better it was. For both of them.

The director, obviously, didn't agree. He ordered that the main characters should spend an evening together, "A dinner and then go clubbing, kids. Maybe this way you will understand that he's not trying to hurt you, darling - and you, Martin: I can see the tension between you, the longing every time she's near you. Use it, man - use that sentiment !". If only he knew who really Martin was...John had called him a machine, once - and he could seem a robot, sometimes. She suspected that it was not only the supremacy of the mind what was preventing Sherlock Holmes to truly experiment feelings; but she didn't have time, or the chance, to explore further the reasons for his lack of empathy.

"Maybe we can double-date...what do you think ?". Jez's voice reached her from behind, just after leaving the stage.

"I'm not going to date Martin Davenport, Jez...I'm not going anywhere with him"

This time was not Jez's voice to answer her back. "I will pick you up tomorrow at 9 o'clock. And maybe your friends can met us at the club later, what do you think ?"

_What do I think ? I think you're playing with me, for some obscure reason, you moron...just ask for my help! No Molly, you can't say that._"Alright, well...my address is..."

Sherlock smirked. "I know your address - Mike, the director, gave it to me. Later, Molly". And with those words he left the theater. He was a good actor, Molly had known it from the start: in London his flattery was too punctual and perfect, to be true. She had wanted to find a genuine interest in Sherlock's words, for a long time;but she had always knew that his interest was fake, just a means to gain something (something he could have had from her nevertheless, just asking politely).

"See ?He's definitely interested, Molly dear...now we have to dash back home to find the perfect outfit for you !"

* * *

Punctual like the dentist when you don't want to see him, Sherlock arrived at 9 o'clock. He didn't need to call on the intercom, because Molly was already waiting for him on the pavement, and continued to wait, unaware of his presence, because it was really hard to recognise him under the helmet he was wearing. He turned off the motorbike, a 2005 Honda CBR 1000 RR Repsol, and took a few moments to observe his pathologist (he grimaced at his own choice of words, but it was pointless: since the fall he wasn't able to call her otherwise). Hair down, a pair of dark jeans, very tight (he absolutely didn't pay attention at how fitting they were, or how they high-lighted her hips,or her bottom...it was irrelevant), some kind of dark green shirt, or blouse: he couldn't say because she was wearing also a black studded leather jacket. Maybe too heavy for the current weather, but appropriate for a ride on a motorbike. Sherlock took the helmet off and dismounted, coughing to catch her attention.

"Oh, S- Martin, I didn't see you! Nice motorbike, by the way!". Molly recovered form her slip very quickly, and offered him a warm smile. Behind the bags under her eyes, behind the pounds she had lost, behind the early wrinkles , there was still the same Molly Hooper, with the smiles , the kind offer of help, even when helping someone would result in her suffering even more...and now, like three months earlier, he was still there, involving his pathologist in something bigger than her, and potentially dangerous. He didn't need her help, but he wanted her near him, nonetheless. Molly Hooper was a piece of home away from home, arrived unexpectedly, to comfort him. Oh, how he despised how sentimental he was progressively becoming...noticing all these useless details about her. It was the night's fault.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_  
_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_  
_Silently the senses abandon the defenses_

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor_  
_Grasp it, sense it - tremulous and tender_  
_Turn your face away from the garish light of day_  
_Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light_  
_And listen to the music of the night *_

He would have time to erase her smile, her soft gaze, from his memory, later. Now, he was hungry.

"Let's have dinner, Molly Hooper"

* * *

Song (from The Phantom of the Opera)

* Music of the night

**I know, very short, and no actual singing in this chapter...I point the finger to my muse, and to the fact that it's very difficult to keep Sherlock in character while he's singing musical songs...just one chapter left (I hope! Who knows what the plot bunnies are planning...)!**

**One last thing: the motorbike is an homage to another personification of Mr Holmes...I couldn't resist! Imagine Sherlock on a motorbike...ok, I'm offering tissues to everyone, stop drooling and leave me a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux , Andrew Loyd Webber ,Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe own The phantom of the opera's story and musical . I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language and I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

Climbing on a motorbike was something quite difficult for Molly Hooper. Climbing on a motorbike, wearing an helmet too big for her, behind Sherlock Holmes, was even more complicated. She remained still for a minute, trying to decide where to put her hands, and to evaluate if it were possible to not touch him, and at the same time to remain on the bike while he was riding at full speed. At last, Sherlock decided for her: he grabbed her small hands and placed them around his waist, then his voice, muffled from the helmet, ordered her around, like usual. "Stay closer, and don't move until we are arrived". "Arrived where?" she asked, but her words went lost in the air, because after a sudden acceleration, they were already on the street.

Twenty terrifying minutes later, Sherlock stopped in front of a fancy looking restaurant. Two decorated pillar were to the sides of the entrance, and on top of them there was the sign. "Aphrodite restaurant", she read. Greek cousine...one of her favourite. It could be a coincidence, but with Sherlock Holmes, coincidences were almost nonexistent. He had probably deduced it from the way she walked, or from some tiny spot of tzatziki on her cardigan..."Give me the helmet, I will fasten them to the bike".

They didn't have a reservation, but the owner knew him - as Martin Davenport, obviously, and lead them to a table in a secluded spot. The bald man smiled at her, a genuine smile, and patted Sherlock's (Martin's) shoulder affectionately. "Finally I see you with someone, Martin...she's really beautiful! Let me find a candle for your table!". Molly started to say "I'm not his d-", but Sherlock interjected quickly.

"Thanks, Stavros- and don't bring us the menus, please. We're opting for the Meze menu for two"

"Wonderful choice! For the dips?"

"Tzatziki and skordalia, thanks"

"Give me ten minutes, and I will be back with your starters!"

Molly observed the restaurant: small, cozy, with low lights, a paternal and affectionate owner...it reminded her of "Angelo's". She had dinner there with John and Mrs. Hudson once, shortly after the funeral, and the poor italian man had cried, while remembering with them their lost friend. A lost friend that was currently scrutinizing her.

"Is there something wrong, Martin?"

"Nothing...besides the fact that you should not be here, Molly. I told you, it's too dang-"

"Dangerous, I understand. If you invited me here tonight, hoping to convince me to return to London, don't waste your breath. I'm not going back, without helping you"

"You already helped me, more than you could possibly imagine"

"Then let me do it again! I'm not completely useless, you should know it now. There must be a way to convince you, tell me what you need"

In that moment Stavros returned, a candle in his hands." Let me lit it up for you...there you are! Five minutes for the dips!" and he scurried away.

"Candlelight suits you. You look lovely"

"Use your false flattery to create a diversion...you are sooo original, S-Martin. Tell me what's wrong with the company"

Sherlock had the decency to look surprised for a moment. He knew Molly was quite observant, and clever. Obviously not clever as him, but..."Who said there's something wrong with the company ?"

"Please, do you want me to believe that you're singing musical in Cardiff just because you have always dreamed of it? Wait, it's that spanish guy, isn't it? Marc, the one Jez fancies...oh,poor Jez..."

"Miss Hooper, as I told someone before, caring is not an advantage. It's a lesson that you, your friend and the others should learn very quickly, if you want to-"

"To what ?! To live in solitude, alone and sad ?". Molly couldn't believe her ears. After all she had done for him, after the sacrifice he was making to save his friends, he still believed that sentiment was just something incovenient ? "How could you be such an idiot ? If it weren't for the fact that I care for you, you could have been dead right now, and with you all the others" she hissed.

"What saved me was that I understimated you, and as a consequence, Moriarty did it, too. We are the same, he was right". Was it guilt in his voice? Or regret? Impossible, Sherlock Holmes was too proud of himself, to feel remorse."But we don't have time to dig up the past again. Yes, Marc Guerrero is a thief, and sometimes the receiver of stolen goods. He inadvertently stole something really important, something that it's essential to me, if I want to access the highest ranks of Moriarty's criminal organisation"

"What can I do ?"

"For now, you could taste Stavros' superb food...and then, you're going to text your friend and tell her that we are waiting for her and Marc at the "Lucky Voice". It's a karaoke bar on Greyfriars Road"

She could sense he was not telling her all his plan. "And then?"

"How good are you at picking locks, Molly?"

* * *

Breaking and entering was not exactly her idea of a quiet after dinner, but after all, Molly was the one who had offered her help to Sherlock Holmes, so she shouldn't complain.

"One minute and seven seconds...Mr Guerrero, maybe it's time to invest into a deadbolt lock. Wait here and be on the lookout, it will take me a few minutes" and with those words, Sherlock closed the door in her face.

"Wonderful...you help a guy to fake a suicide, and what do you gain? Nothing, he bosses you around even more than before" she started to mutter, when she heard a noise. Steps...one, no two people on the stairs, whispering. _Stay calm Molly, you can do this..._she knocked softly, whispering "Red code! Red code!". Her fist was just a few centimeters away from the wood, when Sherlock opened the door, what looked like a flash drive in his hand. "Really, Molly? Red code ? How many spy movie have you watched lately?"

"Two men, they're on the stairs! They're coming our way!" she explained, her voice low and frantic. He took a look, then whispered "Trust me" and in an instant, his lips were on her mouth, his body pushing hers against the hallway's wall. She tried to be impassable, but then she felt his fingertips caressing the skin just above her hipbone (when did her blouse rise up?), and she let a moan escape from her lips. Sherlock took advantage of that, and his lower lip coaxed her mouth to open, his tongue flickering against hers. Then...it was over. She opened her eyes -_when did I close them? And why?- _and found Sherlock looking at her, panting. He looked swiftly at his watch. "They probably went to a flat downstairs. Your friend is waiting for us. We better hurry"

The ride to the "Lucky Voice" gave Molly the time to try to clear her mind. Sherlock Holmes had kissed her. Properly kissed her. And it had been only an escamotage, to avoid being discovered while stealing something from a criminal...that made her think of Jez. Poor Jez, she had no luck with men...well,she was the one who dated a criminal, gay, psychopath mastermind...and she had just been kissed by an asexual self-proclaimed sociopath, she surely was winning...The motorbike stopped, and with it also her musings.

"We are arrived". The sight of Sherlock's ginger hair,flattened by the helmet, made her giggle. She took off hers, and she was still laughing at him, with Sherlock looking increasingly puzzled. "Your hair...I can't wait to see your wonderful curls again...this colour is ridiculous!" she explained.

"Well, trust me: I was rather fond of my curls, too". He seemed to mourn them, making the familiar - and now useless - gesture of brushing them away from his forehead. He took her helmet and locked the motorbike.

When they arrived at the club, they found Jez and Marc waiting impatiently for them. "What took you so long? You're twenty minutes late, I tried to call you two times but you never answered! I was worried, Mol-".Jez took a look at Sherlock, then abruptly stopped her rantings, and smiled."Well, let's find a table, shall we?"

Her friend dragged Molly inside the karaoke-bar." You're forgiven...but I want all the juicy details,later!".That was the moment when the shy pathologist noticed the lipstick spot on the corner of Sherlock lips."Hey, Martin, what do you think about singing with Molly, right now? I know the owner, it will take us a mnute to find a spot for you two"

Her eyes found his; she could see them sparkling, despite the low light."Only if we can choose the song"

"Of course. What do you want to perform ?"

They answered simultaneously. "Point of no return"

* * *

_PHANTOM_

_Past the point of no return _  
_No backward glances _  
_Our games of make-believe are at an end. _

_Past all thought of "if" or "when" _  
_No use resisting _  
_Abandon thought and let the dream descend _

_What raging fire shall flood the soul _  
_What rich desire unlocks it's door _  
_What sweet seduction lies before us? _

_Past the point of no return _  
_The final threshold _  
_What warm unspoken secrets _  
_Will we learn _  
_Beyond the point of no return? _

Molly felt, more than heard, Sherlock sing. The words were so true, so appropriate...because the man before her eyes was a ghost,a phantom, and she was the only one who was able to really see him.

_CHRISTINE_

_You have brought me _  
_To that moment when words run dry _  
_To that moment when speech disappears _  
_Into silence _  
_Silence. _

_I have come here, _  
_Hardly knowing the reason why _  
_In my mind I've already imagined _  
_Our bodies entwining _  
_Defenseless and silent, _  
_Now I am here with you _  
_No second thoughts _  
_I've decided _  
_Decided. _

_Past the point of no return _  
_No going back now _  
_Our passion-play has now at last begun. _

_Past all thought of right or wrong _  
_One final question _  
_How long should we two wait before we're one?_*

"How long before you can return home? How long before I can see you again? Will this night change something, for us?" She knew that she could not ask him those questions: he had a mission, and she couldn't forget that he was Sherlock Holmes, and she was only mousy Molly Hooper. She didn't hear the applause that welcomed the end of the song, and she missed how Sherlock was looking at her, his gaze wistful and sad.

* * *

They took a moment to say goodnight to each other, when they left the club."I'm leaving tomorrow" he announced, his voice firm and impersonal.

"To go where? I know, you can't tell me, stupid question"

"And you're leaving too"

Molly felt the hope fill her heart. Sherlock wanted her help, he had finally understood that they could share the burden, and defeat Moriarty's organisation together...

"You're going back to London. Mycroft booked the train for you, and I don't want to hear a word, understood?"

"How could you believe that you could order me around like that? I'm a grown woman, I'm a doctor, for God's sake, I can-"

She felt his hands gripping rather forcefully her shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eyes."I need to know that you're safe. Mycroft can protect you better while you're in London".He rested his forehead against hers."How long before you will finally understand that you do count, Molly Hooper?"

His lips tasted her salty tears when he chastely kissed her."Take care of them. And be safe, for me. Goodbye, Molly"

Sherlock Homes had left her, again. But this time, she had two kisses, and a "goodbye", to keep her company.

**THE END**

Song (from The Phantom of the Opera)

* Point of no return

**Thanks again. Thanks to ****Phantom white lady of 221b for giving me this prompt; thanks to everyone who read, and left a review, and followed. I hope Sherlock is not too much OOC,it was a really hard task to keep him in character while singing on a stage...but I'm quite satisfied with the outcome. as always, let me know what you think, reviews makes me happy and smiling, and help me to be a better writer! **

******Irene**


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